Times Worth Remembering
by VoicesoftheSoul
Summary: "I remember now," Alfred realized, watching the father-and-son duo disappear into the throngs of tourists and people who worked or lived in the city. "I remember who he reminds me of…Me." Series of one-shots. America, Lithuania, Belarus, England, Sweden.


**Things Worth Remembering** – America

**DISCLAIMER:** Hetalia is not mine :C

_**Just Watching**_

Every nation loves their capital - it's the center of their being, the essence of themselves. Their capitals cement their sovereignty, a place for the people to look for leadership. Their capital is the root of their history, and the home of their government. Without a capital, one was not a country.

Alfred was enjoying his own capital at that very moment, strolling leisurely past strong looking monuments and wonderful, fact filled museums. It was his lunch break, a time he usually utilized to take in and appreciate the sights of his heartland.

_Sure feels awesome to get out of The House for a bit – that place is always so tense._

He waited with a crowd of people, probably on their breaks just like him, for a lull in the traffic. Once the flashing countdown light across the street told them they could cross, the group hurried over the pavement, Alfred in their midst.

He ended up buying a hamburger, some chips, and a soda from one of the many vendors littering the curb - _These guys just pop up everywhere, don't they?_ This particular vendor was selling ice cream too, trying to take advantage of the early-afternoon's heat. Alfred didn't get any though – ice cream was messy, and he had to go back to work later. He also politely declined a man who tried to sell him novelty sunglasses, and another who tried to give him ten "free" booklets of stickers of the Washington Monument.

He sat on a park bench, surrounded by huge modern sculptures, a few cherry blossom trees, and people. To any passerby Alfred would look like a very young business man, being dressed up in a well-fitting suit the way he was. He could've been anything from an up-and-coming politician to a FBI or CIA agent – maybe even a visiting dignitary from some far-away country or just an ordinary government-aid worker. They could never know, and never would, who or _what_ he really was.

_It's amazing just how _much _you don't know about people. _He remained on the park bench, relishing his unhealthy, All-American meal. He watched the people walking by – most of them were un-intriguing, just regular office drones or foreign tourists…in other words, a dime a dozen in D.C. The people that really caught the usually ADD-acting nation's attention were the families.

Most were tightly-knit - not always laughing and smiling, but always there for one another. Alfred couldn't help but envy them. He did have Matthew, he supposed…but he'd never really felt close to his only true-blood relative, not really. Alfred envied those happy families.

A laughing little boy, no older than six, skipped and danced across the sidewalk in front of him as he chased a tiny yellow butterfly. His face displayed an expression of pure and simple joy, such as the kind only a child could have. He wove between the patrons with ease, still in pursuit of that lovely insect.

_He reminds me of someone, but who?_

Then, one of "those moments" happened – one of the ones where you can _feel_ what's going to happen before it even does. And when it _actually _happens, it's always as if in slow motion. The poor kid tripped over his own feet, and ended up scraping both his knees and palms after throwing them out to catch himself. The little boy wailed, both in pain and in disappointment at the escape of the butterfly.

Alfred stood up quickly, intending to go to the child's aid - _Poor little guy! _- but before he could, the boy's father got there first. He knelt down by his still-sobbing son. Some people spared the two a glance, or offered help. Most just continued walking by, figuring it was not-their-problem and why-should-they-care…but no one, absolutely _no one_, was more enraptured by the scene than Alfred.

"Joshua," the man said, half with empathy, but also with the slightly scolding tone of a parent. "I told you not to run away from me like that. And now you're hurt…come on, let's go home and get you cleaned up." He gently gathered his son up in his arms, and began walking back in the direction the both of them came from.

_I remember now_, Alfred realized, watching the father-and-son duo disappear into the throngs of tourists and people who worked or lived in the city. _I remember who he reminds me of…_

…_me._

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Arthur, will you _plllleeaaassee _play hide-and-go-seek with me?" Alfred tugged on the teenaged Brit's sleeve, barely being able to reach it without standing on his tip-toes. Arthur smiled down at his young charge. Alfred had spent the entire day alone, and he wanted to spend some time with the young man who, for all purposes, was like a big brother to him.

"Absolutely - but first, I have to go finish some things in the house. You know - chores and all that. Can you wait here for me?"

Alfred's heart sank. _But I wanna play _now_… _"I guess," he answered sullenly, kicking his feet in the dirt. Arthur ruffled his hair affectionately. "Good lad! I'll be right back."

Alfred watched Arthur disappear through the doorway to the home they shared together. But before he completely vanished from sight, Arthur took the time to issue a warning. "Now don't run off, Alfred. It's dangerous out there."

"I know!" the little boy called back, but he doubted he'd been heard. "Figures," he collapsed onto the soft bed of grass that carpeted their lawn. He hoped that Arthur would be quick – he was anxious to work off all the energy he'd been saving all day for when his big brother came home.

_If he takes too long, it'll get dark and then we won't be able to play._ Alfred passed the time slowly – he tried to find shapes in the fluffy clouds, he made a crown out of flowers from the flowerbed –_ I should probably put these back before Arthur comes back _– and threw stones from the house's drive into the woods that bordered his home.

The minutes passed like hours for the small nation. _He's so slow!_ The suns kept sinking lower and lower in the sky. Alfred was _convinced_ that they'd run out of time to play tag, at the rate Arthur was getting his things done.

"Arraaagghh!" he picked up a small rock and tossed it at the kitchen window - it didn't even make it halfway. Alfred sat down on the grass again, with a loud and pronounced "Harrumph!" Arms crossed and brow furrowed, he was a text-book image of frustration.

He was temporarily distracted from his anger by a small yellow butterfly, flitting its wings and flying right past his face. "Hey…" he swiped at the common insect, but missed. It flew farther away, not going any higher into the air. _I can still catch it, if I try…_

Alfred got up, and charged it. "Ha!" he exclaimed, certain that he held the winged creature in his hands - but when he lifted his thumb to peek in his finger-cage…nothing. "Wha…?" The butterfly fluttered past his ear.

"How did you get there?" he continued to chase after it, jumping and skipping, but it always remained _just_ out of reach. It wasn't long before the butterfly led him to the edge of the wood. Alfred stopped just in front of the tree line – on previous trips into the forest, Arthur had always been with him.

_Should I…?_ Alfred glanced into the densely packed trees, and then back to the familiar sight of his house – where Arthur was. He did this again and again, the older boy's warning ringing in his ears. With each second he hesitated, the butterfly was getting farther and farther away.

_I won't be gone that long_, he reasoned. _And if I keep an eye on where I'm going, I won't get lost! _And so Alfred plunged into the forest, high on the excitement of breaking an established rule. _"You must never go into the woods without me, Alfred," _he remembered Arthur telling him, a very long time ago. He'd never disobeyed the ancient instruction. _Ha! This isn't so hard…_

Alfred ducked between the trees, under bushes, and splashed across shallow streams – all the while chasing the butterfly. "You'll never get away from me!" he cried, jumping over a fallen branch. His feet kicked up dead leaves as he ran - vegetation that had long since fallen from their spindly tree-homes and died.

The setting sun cast shadows into the forest, which was already darkened by the canopy of leafy-summer-green spread above his head. "I'm getting closer!" he continued to run, farther and farther away from familiar landmarks. But Alfred didn't notice – he was too busy focused on obtained the prize of the golden-winged insect.

"Almost got you!" he was _so_ close – all he had to do was jump and he'd have it in his grasp. It was right above him! Alfred tensed his muscles, and leapt through the air, arm outstretched and fingers ready to grab.

_ Yes! _He had it! _Wait…no!_

Alfred was falling, not because he'd jumped _up_, but rather because he'd jumped _into_ something. He put his arm out to break his fall as he tumbled through the air, down some sort of slope. The little boy hit the ground with a loud "_wumph!_" and a muffled "_crack!_"

Instantly, an aching agony like no other he'd ever experienced radiated from his wrist. Alfred couldn't even cry out or gasp in pain – the wind had been knocked out of him on impact with the hard forest floor. There had been no leaves or other type of convenient vegetation to cushion his fall.

_What…what just happened? _He tried to wrap his mind around the events that had just occurred, trying to figure out what went wrong – he didn't even notice that the butterfly had flown away. Alfred clutched his hurting arm to his chest, being careful not to jostle the wrist. Slowly, his breath came back to him.

_I'll figure a way out of this…_the little boy fearfully observed his surroundings. In the dying light, he could just make out the ridge he'd tumbled from. It was about five feet high, with a sharply slanted decent. He looked behind him – a similar ridge, mirroring the other, was there too. They continued on for as far as he could see.

_It must be some kind of riverbed_, he realized. Alfred lost it. He was alone in the forest, had no idea where he was, had ended up trapped in a dry riverbed with a wrist that was sprained _at the least_, and it was getting dark. Alfred _hated _the dark. He began to cry.

"Arrrtthhhhuurrr!" he cried. "Arrrrrrttthhhuurrr!" The sunlight faded completely now, leaving the moon as the only thing to illuminate the trees. It cast weird shadows, and made everything that was bright and inviting in the daytime sinister and intimidating.

"Arrrtthhhhuurrr!" he called more quietly, afraid to alert the monsters and other nasty creatures that lurked in the woods after dark of his location. "I'm afraid…I'm sorry I ran into the woods, I won't do it again!" he was apologizing to no one but the trees. _What if he never finds me? What if he doesn't even know I'm missing!_

"Help me! Arrrtthhhhuurrr, help me!" Alfred yelled and called for help until he was hoarse. _I can't yell anymore…_it was getting cold now, as summer nights sometimes did. He was shivering in his thin cotton clothes, tears running continuously down his face. His feet felt almost frozen – they were still wet from running through the stream, as were his pants.

The horrible ache in his wrist wasn't going away, and trying to move any of his fingers sent sharp splinters of pain up his forearm. Alfred had never felt so alone, so vulnerable, or so afraid. _ I want Arthur! _He heard a few branches snap in the underbrush somewhere above, and felt a brief ray of hope despite himself.

"Arthur?" he asked. Whatever it was, it wasn't his big brother. It skittered off into the distance, startled by his voice. Alfred began to cry again, but quietly this time. His shoulders shook up and down with sobs, and it was getting hard to catch his breath. _I never should have followed that stupid butterfly!_

Alfred tried to get comfortable on the riverbed – he lay on the ground, using his good hand as a pillow, and leaving the other one prone on the forest floor. Even if he hadn't been alone and terrified and in the dark, the effort to sleep would've been futile – his wrist was hurting him so badly, he _couldn't_ fall asleep.

He sat up, and remained like that for so long he lost track of the time. He tried counting to sixty, like Arthur had taught him, but couldn't get past forty-three. _I can't even count the minutes…I bet he's forgotten all about me, and gotten a new little brother by now – one that _won't _run into the woods…_

The small boy had all but given up on being rescued when he heard it. "Allllffreeed…" it sounded so faint, and so far off that he was sure that his fear-addled brain and ears were trying to trick him. But it kept getting louder and closer, until Alfred was sure that it wasn't an auditory hallucination. _It's Arthur!_

Relief swept through him, and he began screaming. "ARTHUR! ARTHUR! I'M OVER HERE, HELP ME! ARRRTTTHHHUUURRR!" There was a crashing sound as someone large ran through the underbrush, and soon Alfred's big brother was standing over him, a lantern in hand.

"Alfred!" Arthur slid down into the riverbed, and gathered the little boy into his arms. "OW!"

"Oh, good God, are you hurt?" Alfred nodded, lips pressed tightly together to hold in the curses that Arthur always said whenever he thought his little brother couldn't hear or wasn't listening. _He'd just put soap in my mouth, anyway…I do _not _need that right now._

"You bloody little idiot," Arthur scolded him, gently examining his aching wrist. "I've been worrying about you, terrified that you'd been picked up by Francis or Antonio…" Alfred hung his head. He'd been rescued yes, but now he was getting lectured too.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, relenting. He picked Alfred up, set him on the ledge, and then hoisted himself up out of the riverbed. He gathered the young boy in his arms once again. "But I did tell you to stay put, didn't I? Ah, well…you've learned your lesson, and what's done is done, I suppose." Arthur began walking back through the woods, towards their house.

"Let's get you home, and clean you up."

Alfred laid his head on Arthur's shoulder, glad for the light the lantern brought, and even more so for the welcomed, calming presence of the older boy.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Now hold still, this might hurt a bit…" Arthur did something to Alfred's wrist. He wasn't looking, so he didn't know what, but a huge jolt of pain traveled up and down his entire arm – from his shoulder blade to the tip of his middle finger. "Ahhhhhhhh!" he cried, pulling away from Arthur's grip – Alfred was surprised to find though, that it hurt less. The pain was still there, and he couldn't move his fingers, but it was less agonizing than before.

"What did you do?" he asked in wonder.

"I just set the bone," Arthur told him, then turned and rummaged through his magic-stuff box that Alfred was never allowed to go in. _Maybe that'll be the next rule I'll break…ehh…no. Better not…_Alfred's sense of adventure was going to be a bit subdued for a while, given what he'd just experienced.

They were back at home, Arthur having carried Alfred the entire way. He'd already been changed into his pajamas, and scrubbed practically raw in the little wooden tub they bathed in. Now they were in Arthur's room, Alfred sitting on the older boy's bed while he was tended to.

Arthur resurfaced from the depths of the intricately carved and decorated box, holding in his hands an unlabeled jar of _something_, a wooden rod, and a roll of bandages. He set to work on tying the wooden rod to Alfred's arm with the bandages, tightly.

Alfred winced, but his curiosity was peaked. "What's the wood-thingy for?"

Arthur answered without missing a beat. "That's to make sure your bone heals right."

"Ohhh…I see," Alfred nodded, although he really didn't. _Is it a magic stick?_ "How do you know all this stuff?"

"You just learn these things over time…." He tied up a loose end. "…and from experience."

"Have you ever broken a bone?"

"Yes, I have," Arthur answered each question patiently as he finished dressing the young boy's injured arm.

"Did you have somebody to fix it for you?"

"No…and that's why you're lucky – because _you've _got _me_," Arthur tickled Alfred's face with the feathery end of a quill – he'd grabbed it from his desk. Alfred giggled, trying to grab it with his free hand.

Catching his breath, he pointed to the mysterious jar. "What's that?" He watched as Arthur's gaze followed his finger to the glass container.

"That," Arthur began, grabbing it and twisting off the lid. "…is something you have to drink."

"I have to drink…_that_?" Alfred stuck out his tongue. _No way! It looks disgusting…_

"Well, you'll have to if you want your arm to stop hurting and get better," Arthur informed him, catching his little brother's disgusted expression.

_Pain and agony…or disgusting-icky-mystery juice?_ It was a tough choice. Finally, Alfred sighed and nodded. He grabbed the jar, and – crinkling his nose because of the smell – took a swig.

"Ewwwwww!" he spat - it had the consistency of semi-warm molasses, and tasted like a bizarre combination of onions, curdled milk, and paper.

"Tastes just like Frog food, doesn't it?" Arthur commented, taking the jar and stowing it back in the magic-box.

"I dunno…I've never had French food."

"Oh, right…never mind, then," Arthur closed the chest with a resounding _clack!_ "Let's get you into bed."

"Ummmm...," Alfred squirmed. "Can I sleep with you tonight, Arthur?" _Please, please, please, please? _He put on his most pitiable expression, and stared up at the Brit through his messy bangs. "Please, Arthur?"

Arthur sighed. "Alright, Alfred – another night won't hurt." He drew back the covers for the both of them, and Alfred happily dove beneath them - he snuggled in, warm between the thick quilt and firm mattress. It was even warmer, and more safe-feeling, with his big brother beside him.

"Good night, Arthur. I love you…," he yawned, eyes closing. _That stuff I drank must be some kind of pain-killer or sleep-inducer…or something like that…_he happily drifted off to sleep, feeling Arthur beside him. Just before he was born entirely away by slumber, Alfred was sure that he heard the older boy say something…it sounded kind of like –

"Good night, Alfred…I love you too."

**(A/N) **Daaaawwww! Cuteness overload. Doctor England to the rescue! :D But anyway, I really liked writing this. I had some free time, and the outline was on my computer, so I figured "Why not?" I'm not sure which one-shot will be next…maybe Belarus's or Lithuania's? I dunno – I'm not going in any specific order…except for the first one. I did America first because I wanted to be…respectful, if that makes any sense. But in the beginning, that was like "Unusually Grounded America" versus how crazy and off the wall he usually is XD

Also, I know that French food does **not** taste like curdled milk, paper, and onions :P That's just England being a France hating poop.

Reviews, faves, and whatever are greatly appreciated!

Tune in next for (FILLINTHEBLANK'S) oneshot ;)

Thanks a bunch! ~ V.o.t.s.


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